


Measure Twice, Cut Once

by concernedlily



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - actual tailors, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concernedlily/pseuds/concernedlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm Harry Hart," Harry Hart says. He's old, smart. He looks nice and he stands behind his counter like he's still at parade rest.</p><p>"You knew my dad," Eggsy says. "He was in your unit. My unit."</p><p>Deep breath, steady hands, <i>steady hands</i> -</p><p>"I need a job."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [libgirl9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/libgirl9/gifts).



Regent Street is busy all the time. Eggsy plans it out carefully. The bus he'll get from his mum's, drop off mid-afternoon when people are back in their offices, cut through the quieter residential bits of Mayfair, find the Kingsman shopfront, go in.

The bloke behind the counter looks up, gives him a slow up and down, and says, "How can I help you?" very politely.

"I'm looking for Harry Hart," Eggsy says, best accent povvo as fuck in the austere officer's-club surroundings.

"I'm Harry Hart," Harry Hart says. He's old, smart. He looks nice and he stands behind his counter like he's still at parade rest.

"You knew my dad," Eggsy says. "He was in your unit. My unit."

Deep breath, steady hands, _steady hands_ -

"I need a job."

***

His boss is called Merlin, and _his_ boss is called Chester King.

“You won’t like the owner,” Harry says. “Nobody likes him. But he’s mostly retired and not here very often so you only need to meet him this once.”

Chester King is grumpy and smells of booze and looks at Eggsy like he’s just scraped him off the bottom of his shoe. Eggsy says _yes, sir_ and _no, sir_ , and when Merlin has finished doing most of the talking, Eggsy has a job.

***

“First,” Harry says, “you’re going to need a couple of our suits.”

“I can’t afford these suits,” Eggsy says automatically. He stopped being ashamed of being poor years ago. Actually, he isn’t so poor now - he’s got savings since he came out of the Marines - but they’re for rent so he can live by himself and for Daisy and Mum and, stashed away in an account he doesn’t keep the paperwork for, his just-in-cases money. It’s not for suits.

“There won’t be a charge,” Harry says. “Those of us who work in this shop, Eggsy, are also an advertisement for its wares.”

He raises his eyebrow and looks at Eggsy in the mirror. Eggsy looks at Eggsy in the mirror. He doesn’t look so bad. The suit is a bit shiny and it doesn’t fit Eggsy second-skin the way Harry’s fits him and his tie was three quid from Tesco because his nicest tie, his regiment tie, is in a box at the bottom of the wardrobe, but he looks neat and tidy and the overall effect isn’t that bad. Maybe. With a quick glance, passing him on the street.

“Yeah, but -” he says anyway.

“Think of it as a uniform,” Harry says quietly. “If that helps.”

Eggsy doesn’t say anything. Uniform means belonging. He doesn’t know if he belongs at Kingsman, yet.

Harry says, “The navy pinstripe and a mid-weight charcoal to start, I think. Come along; fitting room one is free.”

***

Harry has lovely hands. Which is weird, because hands are just hands, aren’t they? Eggsy’s hands are good hands, they can strip and reassemble an SA80 in under four minutes, they can make Daisy a bottle and stroke her hair til she goes to sleep, he can paint a wall and type a letter and pick up conkers with Ryan and Jamal like when they were kids. Mum’s hands used to be nice; Dean’s were horrible; he doesn’t remember his dad’s.

But Harry puts his hands on Eggsy, measures him up for his posh suit like he deserves to have something nice, tells Eggsy what he’s going to do before he does it especially when he goes round behind Eggsy and Eggsy tenses up, and they’re just - lovely hands, big and warm with clean pink nails, lovely.

***

Eggsy hadn’t particularly thought he’d like tailoring, or be good at it. He’d just needed a job, and his CO had tipped him the wink about Harry. But he finds bespoke is - nice. It has a system. Measure, pattern, baste, tailor. And then there's a suit, perfectly fitting and just right, and if it's not perfectly fitting and just right it's back a step and back another and go again until it is right. Nice.

Not that Eggsy does that. Eggsy isn’t allowed anywhere near a pair of scissors, a bolt of cloth, or a customer.

"You haven't got my tea right yet," Harry says. "I'm not going to let you loose on the bloody clientele."

"Maybe if you didn't take your tea like a prat," Eggsy says. He has his tea creosote, with three sugars. Harry's taste in tea is finely wrought and exacting, like the rest of him.

"You're the most wretched apprentice I've ever had," Harry says.

"I'm the only apprentice you've ever had," Eggsy reminds him.

"I remember why daily," Harry says.

"Leave the lad alone," Merlin says indistinctly, round a mouthful of chocolate digestive. "We get tax relief for him."

***

What Eggsy does do:

Hoovers and dusts and polishes. It’s not really satisfying, because nothing ever gets mucky enough to need a good clean, but he comes in at 8am, an hour and a half before the shop opens, and gets everything ready and gleaming and put in its place, and when Merlin comes in he nods approvingly and says, “looking good, Eggsy,” and when Harry comes in he says, “is there any coffee on,” because he’s a complete toad in the mornings, and then at about 11am he’ll look up and say, “it looks very nice in here, Eggsy, thank you,” and Eggsy will smile.

Hangs around Christopher, who works upstairs and cuts patterns all day. The only sound allowed in the pattern room is Radio Four, apart from when Christopher has his break, and then he shows Eggsy the archive. Kingsman keeps every pattern they’ve ever cut and Eggsy looks at the notes on the suits they made for film stars and royalty. Christopher gets them out and then gets the pattern he cut for Eggsy and tells him about where they’re the same, where they’re different, so Eggsy starts to understand how the bits fit together, what looks wrong and what little things might look inconsequential but once the suit is on a person, on the right person, where it’s supposed to be, come together to make it beautiful. 

Sews tiny pointless cushions. It's Christopher who starts Eggsy on that, as well, sets him up with scrap fabric on the spare machine in the corner and gives him stuff to practice. It irritates Eggsy at first, the tiny little stitches, unpicking what he gets wrong, but after a while he finds that if he sits down at the machine with a stiff neck by the end he's loose and feeling better, focus steady for an hour or two and something in his hands that he's made, that's better than it was before. He stuffs his little cushions with offcuts of wool and sews them up and keeps them in his pocket and squeezes them when he feels stressed out.

Makes friends with Roxy. She’s at Central St Martin’s and wants to work at Alexander McQueen when she’s finished her degree and covers the shop floor on Tuesdays, Harry’s day off. He goes back to hers on Tuesday evenings and she cooks stir fries, she comes over to his on Sunday and he makes a roast; they’ve done the whole of The West Wing and The Wire and they’ve just started Breaking Bad.

Naps on the comfy settee in fitting room three. He doesn’t - sleep very well. He doesn’t get to sleep, or he does get to sleep and then wakes up at three in the morning and doesn’t get back to sleep, or he’s up at five, no point trying to get back off, going for runs in the grey light before dawn. It’s an accident the first time he falls asleep at work, he’s sorting cufflinks and tie pins because Harry’s going to show him how they dress the window tomorrow and is letting him pick out some of the details, and it’s warm and quiet, just the sound of Harry pottering round the shop and - faintly - Merlin in the back office swearing at his accounting software, and the next thing he knows Harry is calling his name softly, kneeling just out of arm’s reach, and he scrambles up and goes, “ _fuck_ , Harry, I’m so sorry,” and Harry says, “no harm done, Eggsy, the sofa’s always here if you need it. I’ve closed up,” and Eggsy just - smiles at him, feeling sleepy and relaxed, they just smile at each other.

Looks after Daisy on Saturday nights, when his mum goes out, and on Thursday, when she goes to see Dean in Brixton Prison. He takes Daisy up to Kingsman once and Harry says, “And who is this lovely young lady?” and beams at her, picks her up even though she’s got grubby hands from the banana she was eating on the bus, and from then on Harry is her favourite person and Eggsy spends several of what’s supposed to be his day off in the shop, watching Harry play with her, watching him show her that not all grown men shout and hit.

Goes on improving trips with Harry. Harry takes him to the Fashion and Textile Museum, where they discuss fabric supply chains, and then to the pub; to the Summer Exhibition down the road at the RA, where they discuss aesthetics and style, and then to the pub; to the V&A, where they discuss the development of men’s clothing since the 1600s (“Savile Row,” Harry says grandly, “is not in the business of mere _fashion_ ,”), and then to the pub.

***

Eggsy's not a different person in a bespoke suit. That'd be silly. He's not different. He's just - the best version of himself, somehow. The cut of the jacket makes him stand straighter. The shine of his shoes if he mooches along reminds him to hold his head high. The name on the label inside, _Kingsman_ , makes him proud; the fact that he sewed it in himself, overseen by Harry, and it's straight and perfect, makes him proud.

It makes him think, when he walks past his old school on the way to his mum's. All the kids outside, sleeves rolled up and ties off and trousers breaking a bit too long or a bit too short over scuffed shoes. What he'd tell them, about why he's dressed the way he is.

***

When Eggsy’s been at Kingsman nine months, Harry decrees he’s seen and done enough of the different steps: he’s ready to be involved in the whole bespoke process, from the initial discussions with the client right through to sending the suit out the door in one of Kingsman’s linen hunter green suit bags.

For Harry himself.

“No pressure,” Eggsy says. Harry is so, so picky. He has all these _ideas_.

“Nothing wrong with high expectations,” Harry says, injured. “I’m not _picky_.”

“No, you’re picky,” Merlin says. “You’ll be fine, Eggsy. Harry’ll be breathing down your neck the whole time.”

“I’ll be giving _appropriate supervision_ ,” Harry says. He smiles at Eggsy and says, “But you will be fine. I have every confidence in you.”

Eggsy actually thinks he believes him.

***

The first time he measures Harry up, he drops the measuring tape three times. 

“Settle down,” Harry says. “What on earth do you think I’m going to do to you? It’s just measurements. You’re doing well.”

The tailor traditionally does at much of his measuring as possible from the side and the back. That’s how Eggsy’s watched Harry doing it, professional and discreet.

He does the jacket length and half back that way; Harry raises his arms for Eggsy to loop the tape around his chest. He’s warm and firm under his pristine white shirt. Eggsy does the crown to cuff measurement and their hands brush, Harry’s fingers curl around his almost imperceptibly.

He moves round more to the front of Harry and wraps the measuring tape round his waist, snug, ducking his head down like he just has to to get the number.

It’s the most intimate he’s felt with anyone for - months, years. The first time he’s touched anyone but Daisy and his mum since he got back from active service, from the rough affection of his squad.

His hands falter and Harry looks down at him, concerned. He’s so close; his eyes are dark and kind and he smells like herbs and vanilla. Eggsy shuts his eyes, overwhelmed, and when Harry’s arms slide round his body and urge him closer he goes, leans into Harry’s shoulder and is embraced.

“Darling,” Harry murmurs, his lips at Eggsy’s temple. “My darling boy.”

***

“I’d like to take you for dinner,” Harry says, pulling his jacket back on after the measuring and shooting his cuffs. Eggsy looks at the paper in his hand, the measurements with a number noted down for each one, puts it away in the blue folder he’s started with his notes and ideas for Harry’s suit. “Will you?”

“I’d love to,” Eggsy says.

Harry takes him to a pizza restaurant in Belgravia, a small place with plastic tablecloths where he asks after the waiters’ kids in Italian, licks his fingers neatly when he gets them covered in balsamic while dipping bread, and recommends Eggsy try a chicken cacciatore that turns out to be delicious.

They talk about fabrics: Harry hasn’t been decided on what he’s going to have Eggsy make him but a couple of glasses of red in and Eggsy finally manages to persuade him to go with this sharkskin worsted Eggsy’s fallen in love with but Harry considers ‘racy’, soft and a dark blue - not quite navy - with a very faint pale blue Prince of Wales check. Harry’s getting a new tweed suit as well for winter, and so is Eggsy, but they’ve agreed with Christopher that won’t do for Eggsy’s first go: tweed is harder to work with and it's going to be enough of a challenge for Eggsy to get the check lined up, his first time. Double breasted, of course, and double vents and a bit of a cutaway at the collar, the classic features Harry prefers.

(“You're the professional, you know what's up and coming in menswear," Harry had said. "It’s part of your job to ask the client if they want to try something a little different, each suit you make."

"Would you like to try something a little different in your new suit, Mr Hart?" Eggsy had said, dutifully.

"Absolutely not," Harry'd said, grinning. "My suits are perfect the way they are, thanks. Like me."

Eggsy had rolled his eyes, but he'd agreed, secretly: nothing he could do could make Harry look better than he already did.)

It’s a nice night, a great night, and Harry looks at him intently on the pavement outside afterwards. His eyes drop to Eggsy’s lips and Eggsy can _see_ him thinking about it, and then he kisses Eggsy on the cheek and puts him in a taxi (pays the driver and all). Eggsy wonders if he’s misread what the evening was about, touches the spot high on his cheekbone Harry had kissed, surely too lingering to be paternal.

His phone trills in his pocket and he gets it out, opens up the new text message.

_Thank you for a lovely date, H._

Not misread. He touches his cheek again, realises he's still smiling.

***

The next few weeks are an exercise in delayed gratification. 

First, the suit.

Second, not the suit.

He works closely with Christopher on making the pattern, sketches out with him each morning and lunchtime what he's going to do next. If he really gets stuck he's got Harry's existing pattern to look out and try to figure out what he needs to do; if he really really gets stuck he's got the man himself to talk it through.

Over dinner, usually, three or four times a week now. He asks for the first time about Harry's military service, in the Gulf; and Harry tells him about his dad. And other things, about what it was like when Harry was growing up, about Eggsy's childhood and how he got a discharge so he could try and be there for Daisy's. He tells Harry things he never thought he'd tell anyone and afterwards Harry looks at him just the same, gives him the chaste kiss goodnight just the same.

(Eggsy always goes straight home and has a wank practically as soon as he's in the front door, but it doesn't sound so romantic then and everything else _is_ , he loves that Harry is sure of himself, is sure of Eggsy, thinks he's worth waiting for.)

Getting his hands on Harry turns out to be a really good motivator for getting his pattern done and moving on to fitting. It takes weeks to get to the point of having a baste Christopher is happy with, most of it spent wrestling with the heavy canvas that structures the jacket.

The first time Harry puts it on and gets up on the fitting stage has Eggsy dry-mouthed. Partly with the anxiety, what if it’s all wrong once it’s on or what if Harry doesn’t like it, and partly because he gets to touch, gets to pull the fabric round Harry and learn him under Eggsy’s palms, gets to _take his time_. Partly because he’s just watched Harry strip down, watching Eggsy while he did it, and if he should’ve looked stupid in his white shirt with its crumpled tails where it was tucked in and his dress socks and suspenders, well, nobody’d told Harry that because he looks powerfully sexy, strong legs and tie off with his shirt unbuttoned past the collarbones, just about the most of Harry’s skin Eggsy has ever seen.

Harry looks composed but when Eggsy touches his skin for the first time he’s trembling and Eggsy is filled with the need to do this right, to be good. Harry sits down on the settee with him for a bit after the first one, pulls him in with an arm round his shoulders, and Eggsy hides his face in Harry’s neck for a bit and breathes.

Subsequent fittings are better, and worse. It’s the highlight of his week and Christopher praises his progress, puts hours and hours into working with him until they start to see a suit emerge from the outline, but only Eggsy knows it’s because of the love and care he’s putting into every stitch, because every moment he’s tailoring he’s thinking of how good it’s going to feel to look at Harry and know Eggsy dressed him, that he’s wearing something Eggsy made for him.

(“I hope you won’t be feeling up actual customers _quite_ so much,” Harry says, amused. “No, go on, have a good grope if you like. I work hard on that arse, someone else might as well appreciate it for once.”)

Much to his delight, Harry likes it. Like, really likes it. He likes showing off, he likes that Eggsy wants to touch him, he likes, Eggsy is pretty sure, the whole greedy process of getting a new suit. 

(“This,” Eggsy says, drawing one finger softly up the bulge that’s appeared at the groin of the fabric, “is going to ruin the line of your new trousers if you’re not careful.”

Harry looks down at him with eyes gone heavy and cat-got-cream, tilts Eggsy’s face up towards his. “Is now a time for being careful?” he asks. He takes the pins Eggsy had clenched in his teeth waiting to be used and puts them on his open palm instead, thumbs Eggsy’s lower lip.)

***

Eggsy finishes the suit on a Tuesday, Christopher downstairs minding the counter while Eggsy works in the cutting room upstairs. He hangs it up to get the full-length effect and then sits at the workbench for a while and looks at it.

“It’s good work,” Merlin says, behind him. Eggsy startles, looks round, and Merlin comes further in, touches him gently on the shoulder. “Harry’s going to be proud of you, lad. We all are.”

“Thanks,” Eggsy says. “Thank you.”

***

He makes the reservations, for the next night, and when Harry comes in the next morning - once he’s out of his usual fugue state - Eggsy guides him into fitting room one, where the suit is ready.

“Oh,” Harry says, breath catching in a way that makes Eggsy’s chest squeeze tight with pleasure. “Eggsy, it looks wonderful." He steps up to it, putting his glasses on, and Eggsy waits in a state of almost unbearable tension while he examines it in detail, turning it over and inside out to look at the seams and construction and crouching down to turn under the cuffs, and then finally taking off his own jacket and slipping the new one on, checking the fit, moving his arms.

Harry looks up with a blinding smile and reaches for Eggsy and Eggsy steps into his arms natural as anything, to be hugged within an inch of his life. "Bloody well done," Harry says into his ear, warm breath catching his lobe and stirring his hair, and Eggsy feels another pleasurable shiver, lower.

He takes Harry for dinner, in his new suit - which looks fucking fabulous, by the way - and then Harry takes him home.

***

They go to a Cecil Beaton exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, a couple of weeks later, Friday night after work. It's popular; busy. 

Eggsy finds Harry deep in thought in front of a photo of Laurence Olivier in a suit with sharply cut lapels and a pointy pocket square. 

He slips his hand into Harry's and Harry glances down at him and smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically completely failed at your prompt which as I read it was not only for first time but for first time porn, I’M SORRY. It just didn’t work at all with the rest of the rhythm and the narrative! So instead of being all nice and neat in the story, here is the first time Harry and Eggsy have sex as a separate piece, which I hope will do.

The first time they kiss is on Harry’s doorstep. It strikes Eggsy as a bit funny - they’ve known each other months and months, Harry’s being doing this sweet old-fashioned _courtship_ for weeks, Eggsy’s been gagging for it all night, watching Harry over the dinner table wearing the suit Eggsy made for him -

And suddenly they can’t even wait to get indoors before they just _have_ to snog. Harry follows Eggsy out of the cab and in its retreating headlights he pushes Eggsy against his front door and kisses the breath out of him, leather-gloved hands in Eggsy’s hair and Eggsy clutching round Harry’s waist, under his thick wool coat.

“Are you gonna take me inside or what?” Eggsy says, breathless, when Harry lets up so he can kiss along Eggsy’s throat, not getting very far because it’s fucking freezing and Eggsy’s wearing a woollen scarf and also Harry’s nose is cold. “Cos swear to God, Harry, I have been waiting for this for months, _months_ , and I will get on my knees right now and fuck what your neighbours think.”

“Yes - yes,” Harry mutters, “just let me - _fuck_ , you’re distracting, I don’t know how I’ve got anything done at the shop at all. Hang on,” and he starts patting round his pockets with this adorable befuddled/turned-on expression that makes Eggsy’s dick actually ache in his trousers. 

He tips his head back against the door and lets out a big long sigh and then Harry’s mouth is back on his and he’s fumbling at the lock at the same time and they nearly go arse over tit when the door opens. “Shit, sorry,” Harry says and Eggsy starts laughing and then Harry starts laughing and they’re both pissing themselves in the front hall of Harry’s little house, still with their coats on.

“Here, let me take your coat,” Harry says and he pulls Eggsy close and unbuttons it for him, giving him the biggest smile, and then slides it off his shoulders, all gentlemanly, helps him unwind his scarf, and take off his suit jacket, and Eggsy feels - not looked after, exactly, not like Harry is being overbearing, but he feels like - things are just being _eased_ , Harry wants to show him he’s cared for and the little details can just be sorted and Eggsy doesn’t have to worry about them.

Harry chucks Eggsy’s coat over the bannister, follows it with his own, and then turns around and says, “Do you want anything? Water? Or a nightcap?”

He’s leaning against the stairs with his legs crossed and his hip cocked and Eggsy thinks he’s never seen anything or anyone he wants more, Harry is just - _fuck_ , and he crosses over to him in three quick steps and plasters himself up against Harry and says, “The only thing I _want_ is to be in your bed with your cock up me, yeah?”

And backs it up by pulling Harry’s head down to his and covering his mouth. Harry lets his lips part and Eggsy’s tongue into his mouth, all accommodating and sweet, and Eggsy groans and presses his cock up against Harry’s urgently, turns the kiss as dirty and desperate as he knows how.

“Come on, then,” Harry says on a whisper. He strokes Eggsy’s hair back from his face and stares into his eyes and Eggsy feels weak and wobbly in his stomach, like he just wants to stay here cuddled up in Harry’s arms forever. He’s not somebody who puts it about, he’s never been that, but he’s also never really had anything that mattered so much before, never been with someone where this kind of intimacy wouldn’t have put him off and had him pulling back and cracking a joke, letting the other person know it’s only a bit of fun.

This isn’t just fun. It occurs to him that this night of firsts with Harry, it could be the start of something that lasts for a long time, he wants it to last for a long time. He takes a shuddery breath and ducks in to the position he likes best with his head nestled in the crook of Harry’s neck and his arms tight round Harry’s waist, and Harry puts his arms round Eggsy too and just holds him, slow and easy.

“My darling boy,” Harry murmurs because that’s _his_ favourite, he likes to call Eggsy that and Eggsy likes hearing it, likes being somebody’s darling, _Harry’s_ darling. “All right?”

“Yeah, I’m all right,” Eggsy says and smiles into Harry’s eyes. “Don’t think you’re gonna get away with this mushy stuff all night, though, yeah?”

Harry’s eyes are dark and hungry and he reaches down and grabs Eggsy’s arse, puts his leg between Eggsy’s and lets him wriggle down on it, his cock pressing into Eggsy’s stomach; his voice is low and gravelly. “I can assure you my plans for you are definitely not just… mushy stuff.” He kisses Eggsy again, deeper, more sure, and Eggsy suddenly realises it hasn’t just been him who’s been having trouble keeping his hands off these last few weeks, assuming because Harry’s older and so self-possessed and calm that he was fine with it all. Harry wants him, _really fucking wants him_ , is going to have him, and that makes him desperate again.

“Actually, I’d say my plans are quite hard,” Harry says and presses his erection against Eggsy’s, and when Eggsy looks at him his eyes are glinting in a way that makes him look about sixteen years old, unbelievably pleased with himself, and completely stupid.

“That is _terrible_ , are you having a fucking laugh?” Eggsy says, sniggering and poking Harry in the stomach. “No more of that, mate, or I might get a headache, know what I mean?”

He does stay hard though. So does Harry.

“Sorry,” Harry says unrepentantly, runs his hand up Eggsy’s back and pulls his hair gently until Eggsy tilts his head back to optimum kissing angle, takes his mouth again until Eggsy really isn’t laughing any more, is instead moaning and clutching Harry’s shoulders and trying to climb him like a tree.

Harry starts bearing him forward and Eggsy stops kissing long enough to go up the really windey stairs, not much fancying a broken neck before he gets to feel Harry’s dick inside him. He’s felt it up enough while fitting the suit and during all the kissing: it’s big, and all joking aside quite hard, and he really needs to get fucked by it, really soon. Harry’s probably watching his arse - he always watches Harry’s when following him up the stairs at Kingsman, and what a sight it is - so he puts a bit of a sway in his step.

Harry’s bedroom is really - Harry. Not what Eggsy would have probably pictured, if he’d thought about it past _Harry has a bed, he could fuck me in his bed, this is how that would go_ but he quite likes that, that he’s still got more to learn about Harry, lots more. It’s a very traditional room, which he definitely had expected, quietly classy as fuck with walls that might in the dim light be cream or might be a very pale blue, solid-looking wooden furniture and an excellent fuck-off big bed with a thick purpley-red duvet.

“Nice,” he says, bounces on the bed and gives Harry what he thinks is a winning smile.

“Thank you,” Harry says. “God, you look good on my bed, Eggsy. Take your clothes off.”

Eggsy draws in a sharp breath at that. Harry looks almost severe, taking his tie off, putting his cufflinks in a little dish on the chest of drawers and starting to undo the buttons on his shirt, top to bottom. His gaze is fixed on Eggsy like he might disappear if he looks away, like he might be a dream.

Eggsy pulls himself further up the bed, kneels up slowly. “You first,” he says, and he almost doesn’t recognise his own voice, the core of lust within it. He hasn’t had sex at all since he came back to London, hasn’t had sex with a bloke for fucking years, _actual years_ , since before he went into the military. Even if it wasn’t Harry and he hadn’t been dying for this for ages he’d be losing it right now. He starts pulling his own tie undone, enjoys the way Harry tracks the movement.

“All right,” Harry says. He’s finished undoing his shirt now but he hasn’t opened it; he’s clutching it at his chest, almost modest for someone who was just kissing Eggsy like vertical fucking. “You know I’m - that is, if I’m not -”

“What?” Eggsy says, vaguely. Harry’s still talking instead of getting naked, he’s getting stiffer by the second in his pants just at the idea of Harry with his kit off, and he doesn’t really get why it’s not happening yet.

“I know I’m probably much older than the - than what you’re used to,” Harry says. His face does this weird twisting thing that Eggsy realises with some surprise is uncertainty.

“Yeah,” he says. This intimacy thing seemed a bit weird before, but now - now it’s time for it he knows exactly what to do. He climbs off the bed and goes up to Harry, puts his hands over Harry’s on the edges of his shirt and encourages him to uncurl his fingers. “Maybe I’m a lot younger than what you’re used to? Deffo a lot more common. Don’t know much. Haven’t done much. Not like you.”

“Eggsy,” Harry says. His eyes go soft and wry. He twitches his hands out from under Eggsy’s and twines their fingers together. “Maybe we deserve each other.”

“Hope so,” Eggsy says and they kiss again, slowly. Harry shrugs his shirt off and lets Eggsy undo his trousers, the snap, the fly, the hidden button on the inside. Eggsy sewed them in there himself, thinking of this moment, and he feels a thrill at being the one to take them off Harry like this. They fall sleekly down Harry’s legs and he steps out of them.

“You better put them away properly,” Eggsy says against Harry’s mouth. “I worked hard on those.”

Harry laughs and pulls away, bends down and picks up the trousers and shirt. “Absolutely.” The shirt goes away, on top of a washing basket in the corner, and he opens the wardrobe and takes out a hanger, puts them away.

Eggsy eyes the inside of the wardrobe with interest but there’ll be plenty of time to satisfy his curiosity about Harry’s clothes: right now he’s more interested in what’s under them. He takes his own trousers off quick and hands them to Harry to go away too, skins out of his shirt and chucks it on the washing basket too. It makes him think about domesticity, about moaning to Harry later when he puts a shirt on in the morning made for Harry’s broad shoulders and he pulls Harry into a quick hug and pushes down Harry’s shorts, his own, Harry’s again until Harry starts to help.

Then they’re naked. Naked together for the first time, and Eggsy knows he’s got a stupid look on his face because Harry’s fit and golden and fucking _gorgeous_ , all man right down to the cock rising hard and huge and all for Eggsy.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says, “Harry, want you, come on -”

“ _Eggsy_ ,” Harry says hoarsely and meets him for more kisses, filthy as fuck now and bodies pressing tight, Harry’s hairy chest rubbing nicely along Eggsy’s smooth one. Eggsy steps them to the side and falls backwards onto the bed, bringing Harry along with him, spreads his legs and welcomes Harry in between them, their cocks coming into hard contact and shooting pleasure up Eggsy’s spine that makes him tear his mouth off Harry’s so he can moan loud enough to wake up the neighbours.

“It’s so good, you’re so good,” Harry says fervently, licking kisses along his throat. “What do you want? This, more of this? Shall I suck you?”

Eggsy gets a hand in Harry’s hair and pulls him up, presses their foreheads together. “Suck me later,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for your cock for fucking months, and if I don’t get it inside me sharpish I’m gonna fucking _do something drastic_.”

“Fuck,” Harry says. He kisses Eggsy’s nose. “Fucking hell, I’m not going to argue with that. Your arse is a sodding wonder of the world.”

He lets Harry up long enough for him to get lube and condoms out, flips onto his stomach and says, “Like this, okay?” 

“My darling boy,” Harry says, snugs up warmly to his side and kisses him on the cheek, “anything you want is okay.”

Eggsy’s arse is by no means delicate but it’s been a good while since he had more than a couple of cheeky fingers up there during a wank and he flexes and arches into being stretched slowly, excruciatingly slowly, enjoying the way Harry talks him through it, the way he pushes his cock against the softness of Eggsy’s flank while he fingers him open. 

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Harry murmurs. “You want to be fucked like this, too? On your hands and knees?”

“I was ready months ago,” Eggsy reminds him, although really he thinks he needed that time, they both did, both had to be sure this was something real and good, that this was something that would _work_. He goes to his elbows and presses his chest to the bed, raising his arse up high and ready and shaking it meaningfully.

Harry laughs softly. “All right, I can take a hint. All right - hang on -”

He feels the slick, latex-cool head at his hole and breaths out and bears down, takes Harry in on a long slow slide and cries out at how fucking _good_ it feels. Why the fuck hasn’t he been doing this every moment since he last did it? It’s amazing, bright lights flashing behind his eyes.

He moans out, “ _Harry_ ,” and Harry leans over him, covers him, kisses the back of his head and puts one hand on Eggsy’s hand where he’s clawing at the duvet cover and the other on Eggsy’s hip, and then -

And Harry was worried about his age, Jesus. He knows just how to move, just how to pay attention to Eggsy, Eggsy’s body, fucking into Eggsy’s arse and spiking his prostate every thrust, and he fucking _lasts_ ‘til Eggsy is boneless and grunting into the pillows and Harry has to hold him up to keep on with that fucking perfect beautiful grind.

He doesn’t have the room or the co-ordination to reach for his own cock and he whines, “Harry, come on - wanna come -”

Harry licks a broad stripe up the sweat between his shoulder-blades and bites the nape of his neck and moves the hand on Eggsy’s hip to his dick, stroking him tight and good with Eggsy’s own wetness to treat the way and Eggsy gurgles into the bed and takes an explosive breath and comes, the power of it speeding through his body and dropping him hard and fast, flat to the bed.

Harry rides him down then pulls out, and Eggsy’s tired and sweaty and content, just about feels it when Harry comes on his arse, flops down next to him and rubs his jizz into Eggsy’s skin. He manages to turn his head so he’s facing Harry and makes limp kissy faces at him until Harry thumps his head onto the same pillow and makes kissy faces back. Once or twice they even connect, and Harry kisses him down into sleep.

***

Eggsy wakes up really early, desperate for a wee. He’s cuddled up to Harry still, which is lovely if a bit sweaty, and he lifts Harry’s arm off his stomach and sneaks out of bed.

He goes into the bathroom, puts the light on, and screams.

“Eggsy! What the fuck, are you all right?” Harry crashes into the bathroom a few moments later, looking all over the place with his hair sticking up and not a stitch on, which temporarily distracts Eggsy from his very important question:

“What the fuck is _that_?”

“What?” Harry says, peers about blearily. “That’s my dog. Are you all right?”

“Why have you got a dead dog in the bog?” Eggsy says, sort of wails, really. Bloody hell. Harry was too perfect, he’d known it. There had to be something wrong with him. _Stuffed dogs in the bathroom_.

“Keeps him out of trouble,” Harry says. “Does he really bother you terribly, darling?” He puts his arms around Eggsy and although Eggsy actually is still terribly bothered about the dead dog in the bog situation it feels nice, really nice, and he rubs against Harry from dick to chest and lifts his face up for a kiss, which Harry gives him, all sleepy and casually possessive.

“I suppose it’s okay,” Eggsy says after a while, grudgingly, softens his mouth for more kisses.

“Thank you, dearest.”

“Means no shower sex for you, though.”

“Shall we discuss it in the morning.”


End file.
